Chapter 477: The True Priest and the False Priest

The moment he saw the massive war hammer Rebecca was lugging out, Gawain immediately realized he had been far too optimistic about this doe’s mental state.

Did she really think all priests in the world looked like Light?!

Yet Rebecca herself didn’t sense anything odd at all. She was still enthusiastically introducing the magical-mechanical war hammer she’d specially crafted for the White Knight. To be fair, this weapon—made from pure white alloy steel, its shaft etched with countless holy runes, the grip wrapped in sacred covenant bands—was undeniably a beautiful piece. The fusion of religious symbolism and arcane machinery created an impressively striking aesthetic. Perhaps in Rebecca’s mind, as long as a weapon bore those features, even if it was a meteor hammer, it could be called priestly gear. And Gawain’s only relief was that at least she’d made a war hammer, not a real meteor hammer…

Then he watched as Rebecca gleefully snapped the hammer’s grip in half. The alloy handle, locked by a mechanical catch, instantly detached, revealing a chain inside. “And, ancestor, look! If you open this part, it can even be used as a meteor hammer!”

Even Amber, usually quick on the uptake, was left speechless by the doe’s logic. “Why would a battlefield priest carry a meteor hammer?!”

Rebecca immediately corrected her with a serious expression: “It’s a White Knight, not a priest!”

“Even if it’s a White Knight…” Gawain sighed, looking at his granddaughter and the magically reassembled long-handled war hammer before him. “Can ordinary people really wield a weapon like this?”

“Rest assured,” Light stepped forward immediately, his face solemn, “the selection of White Knights follows the strictest standards. Only a strong physique can bring unwavering faith. Only the robust can protect their comrades on the battlefield and stand against evil. I believe that as a brand-new holy light profession, as the first generation of trailblazing preachers of the Holy Light Reformation, White Knights must possess great strength.”

Gawain sized up the burly man. “…May I ask what your physical requirements are for selecting White Knights?”

Light smiled gently, radiating a serene, almost divine calm. “They must be able to take three punches from me without falling.”

…He had the distinct feeling this new profession had completely lost any connection to priests!!

“Alright, you do have a point…” Gawain admitted reluctantly, but rationally he accepted Light’s explanation. He couldn’t plan the White Knight role based on his preconceived notions of priests. Cecil’s development philosophy had always been practical and demand-driven. Speaking of which, he couldn’t help but ask, “The mechanical war hammer is a fine melee weapon, but future battlefields will be dominated by ranged combat. How do White Knights handle ranged attacks?”

Rebecca nodded. “They do have a solution. Because the White Knight armor outputs more power, and the gauntlets and armor’s energy systems are integrated with larger capacity, their arm guards are equipped with high-powered twin-barrel holy shock pistols. They also carry a substantial number of crystal grenades for emergencies.”

Kamail added from the side, “Holy Shock is the most stable and efficient mid-to-low tier holy damage spell. Currently, we only apply it to pistols, but in the future, we might consider developing more powerful holy weapons inspired by the Rainbow Cannon.”

The master of arcane engineering paused thoughtfully. “Initially, we didn’t plan to create holy light weapons. We intended to use thermal ray guns instead. Thermal ray technology is mature, parts are interchangeable, and the power is sufficient. Customizing a holy light weapon for White Knights would have added logistical strain on parts production. But we found that integrating conventional magic circuit boards with divine and inverter circuits in such a confined space caused significant magical interference. The energy system became overloaded with wasted energy, so we had to settle on the current design.”

Gawain nodded slightly, carefully examining the weapon systems on the White Knight armor. Thanks to superior weight-reducing runes and advanced forging techniques, the gauntlets were noticeably larger than those on standard magitech armor. At the streamlined front of the gauntlet, he saw a recessed firing port embedded with focusing crystals—significantly larger than a thermal ray gun’s barrel.

With his extensive experience in designing arcane weapons, and knowing that the White Knight armor was essentially a modification of magitech armor, this wasn’t a completely new invention. Yet the style still felt fresh and exciting. Gawain circled the platform, and once he accepted the concept, he found it quite thrilling.

Perhaps this was exactly what a White Knight should be.

His mind involuntarily drew a comparison:

The false battlefield priest: a frail monk from the northern regions, clad in defenseless robes, burdened with cumbersome prayer books, wielding a flimsy short staff, hiding behind allies to cast spells, utterly powerless when caught in close combat.

The true battlefield priest: a loyal and strong White Knight from Cecil, clad in heavy armor, with prayers steel-stamped onto his helmet, swinging a hefty mechanical war hammer, activating force field shields to charge straight into the frontline, invincible in close quarters—even able to send heretics to their graves with a single pistol shot if they try to flee.

And, of course, capable of casting healing and cleansing spells, shouting on the battlefield, “Your doctor’s here!!”

Gawain stroked his chin, muttering softly, “Feels like a total brute…”

The future battlefield priest might just become Cecil’s strongest infantry.

Amber, standing beside Gawain, twitched her long elven ears. As a half-elf, she always caught Gawain’s casual, unfiltered remarks first. She leaned in and whispered, “Old man, you really need to watch your image.”

Gawain shot her a glance and whispered back, “Keep talking and I might have to silence you.”

“Pfft…”

Clearing his throat, Gawain turned to Light and the others. “Anyway, get these into production ASAP. Nicholas, you’ll personally oversee this—put other tasks on hold for now. Our priority is to arm the first White Knight battalion. Luan City has been too quiet for too long.”

Nicholas shifted uneasily. “Understood.”

Gawain glanced at Amber, who seemed about to sulk but obediently lifted her head. “Is it my turn to work now?”

“No, it’s the Intelligence Bureau’s turn.”

…

Luan City had indeed been quiet for a long time.

But it was a silence filled with dread, a tension so thick it robbed people of sleep.

After enduring this oppressive quiet for so long, a dark undercurrent finally began to stir. Yet this surge did not break the city’s tense atmosphere; instead, it spread an even greater unease throughout.

No one cared about the moods of ordinary civilians—not even the temporary bishop, Franblan. But he noticed a shift in the atmosphere within the church district: a closed-off area occupying half the city, composed of a grand cathedral and dozens of smaller chapels. A negative emotion, different from the previous tension, was spreading here. It was shaking the low-ranking clergy and even some priests and deacons managing the smaller chapels.

After morning prayers, Bishop Franblan again noticed low-ranking clergy whispering in the shadows of the cathedral’s pillars, and priests hurrying through the corridors. He felt the omnipresent Holy Light sending him vague warnings. As a devout follower of the Holy Light God, he did not ignore this divine revelation and immediately summoned a senior priest responsible for daily affairs in the district.

“The atmosphere in the church district has been off for the past two days,” Franblan said from the corridor of Saint Luan Cathedral, addressing the summoned senior priest. “Go investigate. Find out what’s going on.”

The senior priest, who had also sensed the subtle change, asked no questions and left at once.

Franblan didn’t have to wait long. Before evening prayers, the senior priest returned with his findings.

“Bishop, some unidentified… leaflets have somehow made their way into the city,” the priest said, handing over a stack of cheap-looking papers, his expression grim. “They contain nothing but vile slanders.”

A bad feeling rose in Franblan’s chest. He silently took the papers. The neat, almost printed text was grammatically simple and crude enough to make anyone frown.

The senior priest continued, “They first appeared in the outer districts, scattered around after being thrown over the walls and fences. Civilians picked them up and brought them home. Later, some families of low-ranking clergy brought them into the inner city, and they began circulating among the small chapels.”

Franblan’s face darkened as he read the leaflets. The identical handwriting suggested printing, but the quality far exceeded anything he’d seen. The content was not complex; in fact, it was so simple that even someone with a basic vocabulary could read it fluently. Yet the message was deeply disturbing.

This was the first time he’d seen such a thing: the inner workings of the church, the true nature of indulgences, the reasons and vested interests behind the senior clergy’s monopoly on scriptural interpretation, the church’s growth and corruption… all taboo subjects laid bare in crude, straightforward language, printed openly on cheap paper, and distributed everywhere!!

Where did these come from? How did they get in?

The first question was easy: they must have come from Cecil. The second question…

Franblan suddenly regretted stationing most of the Holy Church’s troops and exiled knights in the inner city church district.

After a long pause, the temporary bishop finally broke the silence with a grim expression. “How long have these been circulating in the church district?”

“Possibly since four days ago,” the senior priest answered.

Franblan’s face turned ashen. “Why didn’t anyone report this immediately?! This is blasphemy and slander!”

The senior priest hesitated, then said, “All the leaflets that made it into the inner city church district ended up in the peripheral small chapels…”

Franblan blinked, suddenly understanding.

The small chapels on the outskirts were where low-ranking clergy gathered. Those managing them were lower-status or marginalized priests.

They already lacked enthusiasm for the church and might even harbor heretical tendencies.

During the prolonged lockdown, the faith of the lower-ranking priests and clerics began to waver. They simply couldn’t compare to the devout worshippers inside the cathedral… They were the weak points, the easy targets.

Moreover, these lower clergy had no authority to interpret the sacred texts. Likewise, they held almost no power to claim indulgence funds or to independently conduct heresy trials…

The pamphlets openly exposed the church’s dark underbelly and the monopoly over scriptural interpretation—not just hinted at, but laid bare in the harshest terms.

At last, the duke who had pledged himself to the devil made his move—but the way he did it was completely unexpected.

(End of chapter)